


it's only ever you, my love

by cmartlover



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, River's pov of 12 before she knows it's him, The Husbands of River Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmartlover/pseuds/cmartlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She would've loved him even if he hadn't been the Doctor. And yet, he could've never been anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's only ever you, my love

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help but notice how River sort of took to 12 even before she knew he was the Doctor, so I found myself intrigued by that concept. All dialogue is taken from The Husbands of River Song, written by Steven Moffat.
> 
> Inspired by this gifset (http://cmartlover.tumblr.com/post/136271924546/wannabe-disney-shed-loved-him-if-he-werent)

In retrospect, she can’t believe she doesn’t see it sooner. It’s so whopping, in-your-face obvious, it should’ve only taken her a moment to realize. Maybe she’s just been too focused on the mission, or too preoccupied with keeping up the act that she can’t pinpoint what it is about this man that seems familiar. Or maybe the truth is that she’s known the entire time, deep down, in the depths of her heart, but she can’t bear to come to terms with the pain of being wrong.

Either way, she knows he could’ve never been anyone else.

 

* * *

 

 The moment he saunters onto her doorstep looking like a rather pathetic, bony, grey-haired stick insect, she’s unimpressed to say the least. He was supposed to be the greatest surgeon in all the galaxy, how on earth was anyone going to be convinced of that now?

But before she can figure out why he doesn’t look a thing like his pictures, he’s suddenly grinning at her like a giddy child on Christmas morning, with a smile so big and full of teeth she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Why the hell is he looking at her like that?

“River!” He practically growls, jaw flapping like he can’t control it, but all she hears is the sound of her own name reverberating in her ears. Something about the excitement in his tone unnerves her, catching her off guard. No one’s called her by her first name since…well, best not think about that.

When she asks how he knows her, the confusion in his eyes is only another mystery. Oh, would he stop looking at her like that? There’s a serious mission at stake, and she doesn’t have time for this nonsense.

Even her threats don’t faze him. Normally any man with sense would be drop-dead terrified, but he, if anything, only grins wider. And the nerve of that man! He actually asks a question, and a stupid one at that. What an utter idiot. She’s dealt with worse though; she supposes he’ll have to do.

 

* * *

 

“That’s your husband?” he inquires, those striking eyebrows contorting into a scowl. Honestly, hasn’t he read the contract? Yes, she tells him, being very careful to maintain the persona she needs to properly execute her plan.

“Not anyone else?” How many times must she say it? Why is her marriage any business of his anyway? Why does he care so much? Just when she thinks he understands the mission, he keeps asking her about who she’s married to, gazing at her almost like he hopes she’ll marry him. This is not what she hired him for, standing around with his arms crossed like a jealous idiot and groaning throughout her entire conversation with Hydroflax. If he blows her cover now, over something so trivial, she swears she will literally extract his organs in alphabetical order and not feel a bit sorry about it.

“Enough of this, joke’s over.”

And bless, he even has the nerve to call her out when they’re finally alone, as if he thinks this is all some kind of joke. He’s prattling on about being a doctor, like that’s supposed to mean something, and she just hopes he’s good enough at his job to get the surgery over with so she can dump him on the nearest asteroid.

“You’re talking about murdering someone!” he’s exasperated, disappointed, staring at her like he expects something better from her. What does he think she hired him for? And why does he have any right to look at her with such judgment? He doesn’t know a thing about her.

His eyebrows fold into another scowl, but she ignores him, continuing with the mission.

 

* * *

 

Later, as she’s telling off the murderous tyrant Hydroflax, her hands gripping the table tightly, she can feel those eyes boring into her, staring with quiet admiration, and she can’t quite help but be a bit pleased.

But just as quickly, he’s unnerving her again, mocking her sonic trowel—as if he has any idea what a sonic device is—and nearly mucking up the whole plan, as if he hasn’t done enough already!

And then there’s screaming and explosions, and his voice, frightened and impassioned booms across the room.

“Do not lay a finger on that woman!”

She can handle herself, thanks, but it’s actually quite sweet that he thinks he could seem even remotely threatening. Thankfully, Hydroflax finally lets up, and after some more banter, his head is bagged and zipped away.

With barely a second thought, she slips her had through the surgeon’s, holding tight as they make their getaway and land a bit too high off the ground, collapsing back into the snow together, still hand in hand.

 

* * *

 

She’s catching her breath when he bursts out laughing beside her, his eyebrows threatening to pop off his forehead as he leans back, chortling above Hydroflax’s empty protests.

“This is a serious mission, there’s nothing to laugh about here.” She insists, with as straight a face as she can muster, but to no avail.

“We’re being threatened by a bag!” he laughs, nose adorably crinkled and eyes strangely twinkling—not that she notices—and for the first time in ages, something inside her shifts, a sliver of ice in her heart thawing, and before she knows it, she, the mighty, unmovable River Song, has dissolved into a fit of giggles with this strange old man who keeps looking at her like she hung the stars and didn’t leave them collapsing in her wake.

Their eyes meet, his blue orbs dancing with such sweet, soft, unwarranted affection that her insides melt, just for a second, the warmth spreading all the way to her toes. 

He’s making the most ridiculous face she’s ever seen, which bears certain similarities to a laughing horse, but there’s something about it that just makes her giggle even harder—maybe it’s the fact that this grumpy old man looks more like a schoolboy with a crush—whatever the reason, it’s almost…cute.

Perhaps that’s why she finds herself leaning closer, almost nose to nose with him, mumbling, “Who are you?” like it’s some kind of silly child’s game.

The sudden flicker of disappointment in his eyes ushers her out of her dazed state, and she flushes, wondering how in the universe this stranger rendered her into some sort of giggly schoolgirl in only a matter of minutes, when she hasn’t laughed like that in years, since before…

She doesn’t want to finish that thought, doesn’t want to remember the only man who’s ever made her laugh like that, so she looks away, and turns to Ramone—just the distraction she needs.

Snogging him with just enough passion to drown out the rapid beating of her heart and make her forget that she’d ever let her guard down to this stranger, she overcompensates, putting the flirty, bad girl persona back on even as she hears the surgeon groan in disgust.

She introduces Ramone as her husband—even though it’s hardly true, he’s no more her husband than Hydroflax, he’s just a bit hotter, and maybe a bit more distracting—and bless, the surgeon rolls his eyes for about the millionth time. It’s ever so easy to rile him, she’s beginning to realize.

Ramone whips out her spotter’s guide to the Doctor, ‘Damsel’—her real husband—as she tries to explain the concept of regeneration to the surgeon. At his suggestion that perhaps the Doctor has another face she doesn’t recognize, she only laughs it off, insisting he has limits.

With no sign of the Doctor, they follow Ramone back to the TARDIS—and oh, it’s rather good to see the only mother she has left, she thinks as the surgeon makes some kind of jealous quip about “off-world”, and Ramone tries to convince her of using other methods to get off-planet. And miss an opportunity to bond with her mother? For all his looks, he really doesn’t know her at all does he?

Just when she’s about to get Ramone out of her hair—he may be hot, but he’s not really that clever or helpful if she’s honest, and he’ll only be a nuisance—the surgeon protests about stealing. Honestly, the man is so straight-laced he probably hasn’t committed a crime in his life.

“I have a key!” She beams with pride, heralding the key the Doctor had given her on their wedding night and flashing it in his face as if to prove to him that she can get away with whatever she wants. However, he continues to fuss, even suggesting that the Doctor might notice it went missing—as if! After doing it hundreds of times before, she isn’t about to have him start noticing now.

But then again, the surgeon doesn’t know anything about her and the Doctor, so it’s somewhat forgivable, so she leaves him with that dumbfounded expression, and kisses Ramone goodbye, much to the surgeon’s dismay.

 

* * *

 

Despite knowing he isn’t contractually obliged to keep helping her, he’s been eager enough thus far, and although he’s nearly mucked up her plans, she's starting to grow rather fond of him, so with that she steps into the TARDIS and beckons the surgeon in with her.

As suspected, he completely loses his cool—not that he ever had any to begin with—his blue eyes bulging like the sight of this ship is the most astonishing thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh. My. God. It’s bigger—”

“I know where you’re going with this,” she mutters, now utterly transfixed on flying them out of there as fast as she can before the homicidal, decapitating robot comes for them. He’s being ever so dramatic now, although she isn’t really listening at this point.

“Grasped the essentials,” she zips her head over to him—it’s been a minute or so now, and he’s still going off about it—so she scurries over to her secret drinks cabinet behind the roundel, thinking a drink might help ease his shock so he’ll bloody well shut up. Or maybe she needs a drink for the sake of her own sanity.

Now she’s trying to get the Old Girl to take off, and he has the audacity to tell her she’s doing it wrong. As if he as any idea whatsoever after his dramatic display a few moments ago.

But he does have a point about the engines interfering with themselves due to Hydroflax existing both inside and outside the TARDIS, she thinks, slapping him on the chest in thanks. He’s not even remotely as clever as her, but he perhaps he’ll still make a decent companion.

 

* * *

 

“Well, we could chop his head off. Oh look.” He flashes the decapitated head at her, pleased with himself.

“Does sarcasm help?”

“Wouldn’t it be a great universe if it did?” he quips back, eyebrows popping up again.

She doesn’t know if he’s trying to be impressive or funny, but given the circumstances, she doesn’t have time to figure it out.

In the next few minutes, they bicker about what to do with Hydroflax’s head, before it suddenly awakens abruptly, and the surgeon promptly drops it on the floor of the TARDIS. Once they have it back on the console, they discover that Hydroflax is very keen on his threat to burn this world.

“My body contains a split quantum actualizer.” Hydroflax explains, as if that solves everything.

“A perpetually stabilized black hole, that’s your power source?” And here he surprises her yet again. First he understands transdimensional space travel and now split quantum actualizers?

“What sort of medical school did you go to?” she asks, genuinely curious how this stranger is so much cleverer than he looks.

“A really good one for doctors.” By his face, she can tell he hopes that will mean something to her, but really, she has no idea how that answers her question at all. He’s a bit mysterious, this man. More intriguing than meets the eye. Maybe that’s why she’s kept him helping her this long.

However, when she finds herself being strangled by the rest of Hydroflax’s robot body, with the head shouting to “Kill her,” she doesn’t miss the surgeon’s second attempt at protecting her, even if he is rather rubbish at it.

“Put her down!” he yells back amidst the chaos, and she hears the TARDIS doors slamming as the ship jolts and takes off, just enough for her to narrowly escape.

Thankfully she’s already put the coordinates in, so while she hangs on to the monitor with a death grip, she screams for the surgeon to get the head.

He barely manages it, but it’s in the bag, so she doesn’t hesitate to grab his hand and run for it before the murderous robot catches up with them.

 

* * *

 

“Stop holding my hand! People don’t do that to me!” Well, given his dour demeanor and grumpy façade, she doesn’t have to wonder why.

“Hush now.” She scolds, practically dragging him down the corridor whether he likes it or not, as he lags behind like a waddling penguin.

“Don’t hush me, I’m not a hushing person.”

She would think of a witty response to that, but they’re finally in the main hall of the starliner, so she quickly stops, clutching the bag to her chest as she bats her lashes at good old Flemming to ensure she’ll have enough time to get her money’s worth before the homicidal robot returns.

“Is the gentleman here for dinner?”

“Yes he is.” The surgeon answers without a second thought, peering at her almost hopefully.  A bit eager, isn’t he?

“Excellent! I’ll have the chef prepare him immediately.”

“No, you won’t.”

Pressing her hand to his back, she clarifies and smiles.

“He will in fact be joining me to eat.”

“I was about to suggest that force-feeding might be required.” Laughing along with Flemming, she notices the surgeon recoil a bit at that, clearly uncomfortable. Well, it’s not like it’s untrue, she supposes, eyeing his rather skinny physique. Lucky for him, she’s always had a thing for slender men, and apparently, he’s no exception.

Unfortunately, she can’t dwell on that thought for much longer as Hydroflax begins his moaning. Seriously? They’d been so close—

“Sorry, it was my stomach.” Oh no—no, what is he doing? She side eyes him, hoping to maintain a straight face even when he’s coming up with the most atrocious excuses she’s ever heard, and they most certainly aren’t going to fool anyone.

“I have an irritable bowel.” He declares with more dramatic flair, gesturing to his stomach with that bony hand.

“It’s having a day.”

To her relief, Flemming buys it, or maybe he’s just playing along because he knows she could rip those conniving little eyes right out of his insectoid skull if he dares cross her.

 

* * *

 

Now, seeing as this is technically a date (and honestly she’s a little more thrilled about that than she initially expected), and River Song always dresses for the occasion, she tosses the bag to the surgeon, watching him catch it clumsily, only to look back up at her.

“I don’t suppose you mind if I freshen up.” She raises her brows at him in question, not bothering to wait for a response as she suavely and rather fabulously—if she does say so herself—transforms into a woman dressed to the nines, the sparkly, low-cut, floor length gown clinging to her curves in all the right places if the surgeon’s expression is anything to go by. “Not bad for 200, eh?” She offers with a smirk.

Blimey, if looks could kill, she probably would’ve just killed him because he literally drops his jaw like a teenage boy gaping at his prom date, and oh, she’d wondered what it would take to get those eyebrows to skyrocket off of his head—his blue eyes are popping out like a blowfish; she’s almost surprised he hasn’t fainted yet.

“200?” He looks at her with eyes half glazed over as if he’s in a trance, and a secret thrill runs down her spine. She’s always had this effect on people, but she hasn’t enjoyed it quite this much in a long time. This man, with his stupid hair, cross arms, scowling eyebrows, rolling eyes, sarcastic quips, who doesn’t seem to take kindly to other people, who doesn’t even like holding hands, who actually thought he could disguise the groaning of a decapitated head by making up some rubbish about his stomach, has got a walloping crush on her, and she rather likes it.

Well, she should’ve enjoyed his admiration while it lasted, because with her mention of selling the diamond and relaxing with genocidal maniacs, he’s all scowling eyebrows again, making it very clear he doesn’t approve of any of this.

If he can’t appreciate a bit of fun now and then, he really is more boring that she thought. But he’s stuck with her this far even though they’ve both been nearly killed multiple times, and she doesn’t remember including any of that in his contract, so maybe he isn’t so bad.

 

* * *

 

Under normal circumstances, she supposes a date with this man, a walking paradox with his cross eyebrows and soft eyes and childlike smile, might even be a bit enjoyable. She hasn’t properly enjoyed a date in years, but she knows he’s just playing along for the mission, so she might as well keep herself distracted.

Pulling out her diary, she presses her fingers along its old, battered spine, her heart pounding as she opens it to the entry of the last real date she’d had with her husband. She’s knows it’s stupid and sentimental, and she shouldn’t be so weak, especially when he doesn’t care much for her anyway, but then again, he has always been her weakness. Even now, after everything, she finds herself wishing he was here with her.

Instead, she is left with this peculiar old man who is frowning at her with such intensity that reminds her a little too much of a certain bow-tie-wearing idiot. At least he doesn’t look like a 12-year-old.

“Why are you frowning?”

“How did you know?” he wonders, a bit surprised by that.

“It’s audible.” Yes, that grumpiness just oozes off of him, and it’s so painfully familiar because she’s felt that gaze directed at her hundreds of times, but now it just makes her chest ache.

“Deadlock seals can be broken.” He sighs, evidently worried her plan isn’t as fool-proof as she thinks.

“By geniuses. Hydroflax has a brain the size of a pea, and it’s currently under the table.” Giving the bag a little kick, she smiles a bit, amused as she explains how she came to marry the diamond.

“It took me a week.”

“To fall in love?” There’s something is his voice, longing or regret, she can’t quite tell, as if he isn’t really asking about the diamond.

“It’s the easiest lie you can tell a man. They’ll always believe the story they’re the hero of.” Her laughter is a bit too bright as she leans forward with her diary propped on the table, the story of her and the Doctor’s love. Well, her love for him anyway, she notes sadly.

And oh, what is it about his man? One moment he’s cross and stoic, but suddenly, he’s sad and regretful, unable to hide the emotions playing on his face, as if he was hoping for something she could never give him. Normally she wouldn’t be the least bit fazed, but for some reason, the look on his face makes her almost…apologetic. Sorry for bringing him into this mess of her life and fooling him into thinking just for a second that she is in any way worthy of those soft, kind eyes he offers her so freely.

“River…” Even the sound of her name rolling off his tongue in that Scottish drawl doesn’t bother her as much as it should. She doesn’t want to extract his organs in alphabetical order, she wants to shake him for being able to say it with such conviction, such honesty, like an apology she doesn’t deserve. For a second, she almost fools herself into believing that this boring, straight-laced, clever, sarcastic, and if she’s honest, endearing, old man actually cares. Almost. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

They’re interrupted by the waitress informing them the prospective buyer is here, much to her relief.

“What’s the book?” it’s a simple enough question, and even though it’s absolutely none of his business, something about those quiet, soft-spoken words make her want to tell him anyway.

“Oh. It’s my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on a spaceship.” She places it right above her heart, stroking it fondly, trying to muster a smile even though she feels like crying.

“Is it sad?” Funny how all it takes is three little words and a pair of kind, knowing eyes that somehow bore into her very soul to get her to break.

“Why would a diary be sad?” She shoots back, hoping to put her armor back up before he tears through it again.

“I don’t know. It’s just…you look sad.” Her heart stutters as those mysterious blue orbs that she’s growing rather fond of become her undoing, peering through her eyes and into her heart like they know exactly what kind of pain lurks there.

“It’s nearly full.” She admits, heart lurching, unable to look at him as she reminds herself just what that means.

“So?”

“The man who gave me this… was the sort of man who would know how long a diary you were going to need.” Her shoulders sag, and she once again feels the weight of the end dawning on her. To think that she’ll never see that stupid, daft old grin on his face ever again when he takes her out to dinner on some unheard of planet, or have the privilege of slapping him silly for being a sentimental idiot, for hurting her, for leaving her.

The surgeon’s face morphs from confused to sad, though she can’t even begin to understand how or why.

“He sounds awful.”

“I suppose he rather is. I’ve never really thought about it.” Only it’s a lie, and she has, so many, many times. Wondered why he stole her heart all those years ago and led her by the hand on a merry little dance until he grew tired of her, until he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore.

“So…not someone special then.” If she didn’t know better, she’d say his eyes look a bit watery. But she does know better.

Refusing to meet those big, sad eyes, she avoids his gaze, wishing she could pretend he hadn’t just opened her heart up a little more with his quiet kindness and sensitivity, when there had only ever been one man able to do that so effortlessly.

“No.” The lie tastes bitter on her tongue because it is so far from the truth, but she almost wishes it was true, wishes she was strong and the Doctor wasn’t her weakness, wishes she wasn’t so pitifully vulnerable. So she covers it up with false bravado, “But terribly useful now and then.”

 

* * *

 

“Which of you is Song,” the menacing, scar-faced man demands, voice deep and gruff.

“Who wants to know?” For all she’s put him through, he’s still defending her, even though she can certainly handle the situation herself. His protectiveness, while unnecessary, doesn’t go completely unappreciated though.

Steeling herself back over to that cool, calm collected River, she makes sure this overconfident Scratch creature knows exactly who’s boss around here.

“Don’t care, don’t want to know, I’ll need immediate payment, can you do that?”

“Or could you either just sit down or fetch us the wine list or something?” If he hadn’t surprised her so much already, she might have laughed at his audacity to quip at a potentially lethal buyer with such indifference. Even so, she snatches a glance at his smug face, and feels a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. She’s always liked a man with a smart mouth and a quick wit, and though she would never admit it; it’s a bit of a turn on.

No wonder she’s kept him around this long.

 

* * *

 

As most of her escapades tend to go, there is a combination of hardened stares, money being extracted from heads, her putting the fear of God into people so they’ll do what she wants, and said people having the stupidity not to agree to her terms.

So when a bunch of pale, scar-faced creatures with death glares turn towards her simultaneously and demand the diamond in memory of their glorious king Hydroflax, she knows she better devise a Plan B fast before—

“Why do you delay? We have paid, we shall receive.”

“Yes, y-yes you will, by jingle you will, but of course...”

Oh no. He isn’t—he can’t be—

But he is.

“But obviously, we have to check some…”

“Things.” She finishes for him, terrified he’s going to finally get himself killed with this ridiculous display. For the first time that night, it dawns on her just how brave and idiotic this man really is—putting himself out there when he clearly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing—all because of her mistakes. If he loses his life because of her…

“There are things that have to be checked before I get it to you. If we don’t check the thing, then we’ll, they—”

He keeps on going until she finally can’t stand it any longer and comes to his rescue, vainly trying to force Scratch to accept the bag. And just when she thought he couldn’t possibly do anything more stupid than he already had, he grabs the bag back, gripping it tightly in his hands and heralding it for all to see, his voice booming.

“Death has been done this day…noble blood has been spilled…and our tears shall surely follow…”

He’s standing on the table now, and her face contorts in horror at the sight.

“The sky shall crack, the ground shall heave, and even the stones and rocks shall weep…”

Her eyes never leave him as he stumbles onto the floor, blundering through this obviously improvised and hideously acted speech.

 “The rage. Behold…the head…of Hydroflax…” The last word reverberates through the room right as he removes the head, swinging it around like it’s some sort of fearsome object.

She confesses, she’s really not sure where he’s going with this, but seeing as everyone recoils in fear, he must be doing something right.

“Rest now, sweet prince.” At that, she gives him a withering look, horrified at his stupidity. “Walk amongst us…never more.”

“Shall we start the bidding at 200 billion? I’m sorry Professor Song, but we really couldn’t keep this treasure from the truly devout.” An auction…so that’s where he’s going with this. That doesn’t make him any less of an idiot, of course, but he might just be stupid enough to make this work.

“My apologies to the truly devout.”

“Until we find out who is the most truly devout…”

And so the bidding commences, as ridiculous and dangerous it is, River hasn’t felt this thrilled in ages.

When Hydroflax awakens, she slips her hand in the surgeon’s, determined to get him out of here alive after all the trouble he’s gone through to save her hide.

But before she knows it, the giant robot saunters in, just like the surgeon had feared, and she almost wonders why she hadn’t listened to him.

 

* * *

 

To say this day hadn’t gone to plan would be the understatement of the century, or more accurately, several centuries, but here she is, being held against her will, with this despicable, devious, back-stabbing insectoid reading off words from her diary like it’s  meaningless, for his own amusement, and not years of her heart poured into a single book.

For him to dare handle something so precious, so beloved like it’s some sort of joke brings every murderous instinct still imbedded deep inside to life all at once. She will kill him, slowly, mercilessly, even in front of his children if he likes, and she will not feel the slightest bit of remorse.

If the surgeon had any affection for her before, he probably doesn’t now, but just as well; how could she ever expect anyone to love a murderous psychopath like her? At some point, everyone has to face the reality of who she is, and she shouldn’t have expected it to be any different this time. Even if he had flashed her the biggest smile and the kindest eyes she’s seen in far too long.

Her heart crumbles at that, for the first time she could remember, she had someone who looked at her differently, who broke her defenses, who made her laugh—not just laugh, outright giggle, when did River Song ever giggle?—who glimpsed her most vulnerable and somehow still gazed at her with unmistakable softness like she meant something.

Well, now he’s going to see her for what she is, a weak, sentimental woman in love with a man who will never love her back.

She almost can’t believe Flemming’s ignorance; he is incredibly certain that the Doctor will always come for her, his consort, his wife, but he is so, so wrong.

“So…where is the Doctor now?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” It’s been over a year now since Manhattan, and while she’s searched for him, he evidently doesn’t want to be found, so she has no inkling of where he could possibly be. Probably as far away from her as possible.

“Is that credible?”

“It’s true.”

“But you’re the woman he loves.” And oh, the gravity of those words hits her hard, winding its way into the most vulnerable pieces of her soul. Many times, when she was younger, passionate, blind, and stupid, she might have believed it. But now, there’s no denying the truth that she has spent the last year of her life accepting.

“No I’m not.”

“She lying.”

“The Doctor does not and has never loved me. I’m not lying.”

Even the scan confirms it, and yet they’re still foolish enough to continue with this nonsensical attempt to hold her hostage for the head of a man who will never come.

“My information is correct. You are the woman who loves the Doctor.”

Of course she is. Always and completely. It may have been over a century since she barred her soul to him on that pyramid when she was young and reckless, but she’s just as in love with him now as she was then, perhaps even more so.

“Yes I am. I’ve never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back. He’s the Doctor! He doesn’t go around falling in love with people. And if you think he’s anything that small, or that ordinary, then you haven’t the first idea of what you’re dealing with.”

And how could she, River Song, the most notorious criminal in the universe, an unmovable force in her own right ever fall for anyone else?

“Your majesty, I assure you, she is the perfect bait. When this woman is in danger, the Doctor will always come.”

“Oh, you are a _moron!_ No he won’t!”

“He’s probably already here.”

“No he isn’t. Of course he isn’t.” She’s looked, begged, hoped, even crashed Hydroflax’s ship, and she’s still here alone. Without him. Just like she always has been.

“Possibly on this ship.”

“Well, go on! Scan it then! Go on why don’t you!”

“Uh, River—” The surgeon protests, but she ignores him, he doesn’t know, he couldn’t possibly understand—

“Two hearts! Stupid clothes! You can’t miss him!”

“River…”

“Go on! Scan the whole parsec! He’s not here. God knows where he is right now, but I promise you, he’s doing whatever the hell he wants and not giving a damn about me! And I’m just fine with that!”

“River.” His voice breaks this time, his breath close to ear as he stares at her, pained.

“When you love the Doctor, it’s like loving the stars themselves! You don’t expect a sunset to admire you back! And if I happen to find myself in danger, let me tell you, the Doctor is not stupid enough, or sentimental enough, and he is certainly not in love enough to find himself standing in it with me!” She utters those final words with such passion and certainty, recalling every time she’s wanted him by her side in the past year, and she’s had to settle for someone else or no one at all. Every time she’s had to push her feelings back and get on with it, every time she’s watched and hoped and prayed in vain, and he’s still nowhere to be found because he is a selfish coward and an idiot, and there is no way in hell he would ever dare find himself caught in the mix with her.

Mind racing, heart still pounding in her ears above everything else, she feels his eyes on her, the eyes of the man who has been unnerving her all night with his confusing contradictions. She thought he would’ve realized by now—

So she glances over at him, confounded, hoping to finally make him understand—

And immediately wishes she hadn’t.

With one look at those shimmering blue eyes that pour into her soul with such love and devotion and affirmation, melting her insides and stealing her breath away, she is undone, and suddenly everything makes sense. The petty jealousy, the annoying disapproval, the undefinable sadness, the unadulterated joy, the audible frowning, the quiet admiration, the idiotic improvising, the fierce protectiveness.

Of course.

Who else?

She can hardly breathe, afraid that if she does she’ll somehow wake up and discover it’s all been a dream, so her eyes dart back and forth to his unwavering gaze, each look only confirming it, leaving her a quivering mess as her heart thunders in her chest, _thump-thump, thump-thump_ , dumbstruck by the depth of her husband’s love.

Her mind’s reeling, it’s not quite sinking in, everything makes sense, and yet it doesn’t, how can he be here, with an impossible face, standing in it with her, staring at her with all the love she’d sworn he wasn’t capable of?

All this time, every laugh, every smile, it was all for _her?_

He keeps blinking at her, studying her, admiring her, with all the patience in the universe until she truly believes it. Part of her is absolutely mortified, she wants to cry, he’s seen her ruthlessness, her vulnerability, and yet he’s still here, his eyes never leaving her face for a second, like none of that makes a difference to him because he’s just as stupid and sentimental and in love as he’s ever been.

So she doesn’t take her eyes off of him either, how could she? He’s the Doctor, her husband, the man she would do anything for, the man she loves more than anything else in the universe.

And just as the doubts pool in her mind again, those loving eyes stay fixed on her, that mouth trembling as he whispers,

“Hello Sweetie.”

_I love you._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year! I haven't written fic in so long...I hope you enjoyed it:)


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